So I have eight weeks to make this happen. Less than sixty days to show Mr. Winters what I’m all about. To show myself what I’m all about. Who are you, Aiden Emerson? That’s what he asked me as I left his room. I still don’t know the answer, but with every dune I climb, I feel a little closer. Who are you, Aiden Emerson? I hike up the steep dune, an arch of branches just overhead, shading me. As I reach the top and the trees make way to open sky, I shield my eyes. The sun is making its slow descent toward the lake, already darkening to amber, as it prepares to be eaten up by the water. I look out over the sand below me, the sandy paths weaving through the dune grass. I didn’t realize I had climbed so high—I’m above everything.

I set my backpack down, pull out my paper, and nestle my package of pastels down into the sand next to me. This is why I don’t draw in my room or on a picnic table somewhere. Who are you, Aiden Emerson? I’m sure as hell not a boring collage of canoes you hang over the couch of your summer home. No, tonight I’m the world on fire. I’m end-of-days, burning water, apocalyptic beauty.

Chapter

Four

OLIVIA

I sit down on the couch and set the bowl of popcorn between Aunt Sarah and me. If I had some sort of secret superpower, it would probably be my popcorn-making ability. I spend entirely too much time shaking and mixing, and making sure the butter and salt comingle perfectly so there aren’t good bites and bad bites.

Aunt Sarah moans a little as she pops the first few pieces into her mouth. After I gave her the lowdown on my new job situation, we both decided to forgo a frozen dinner for popcorn.

“I haven’t seen Zander lately.” Aunt Sarah doesn’t say it in a suspicious tone, more like she’s genuinely curious. That makes two of us, I suppose.

“They left for up north.”

She nods, like she should have known that. I think summer has caught up to both of us. Somehow it’s the second week of June already, and in three short months I’ll be a senior. And Aunt Sarah will be gone. The thought jabs into me. I keep forgetting about the looming change in my living situation. Aunt Sarah and I don’t talk about the move. We’ve spent the last week deep-cleaning the house to put it on the market—so it’s definitely happening—but we don’t talk about it. I vacuum and she scrubs, and in the evenings we sit on the couch watching movies and just being us while we still get to.